Page 159 of Men in Shorts

From here Robert could see the front window of the nearby community center. It offered a warm, welcome glow in the otherwise forbidding gray streetscape. How long had it been since he’d volunteered there, at the place that had given him so much support growing up?

October, probably, at the center’s Halloween party. That made it nearly three months.

He returned to the living room, where he and Liam sat on the couch to eat and watch TV, the sagging cushions drawing their arses close together, which was exactly where they wanted to be. When they finished eating, Robert drew his legs up and lay against Liam, who tugged the tartan blankets over them both, taking care to cover Robert’s feet.

Robert took Liam’s hand, sliding his fingertips between the knuckles, feeling for the rough spot on the webbing between his third and fourth fingers. Liam tended toward dry skin—a side effect of washing bar glasses in hot water—but this particular patch on his left hand seemed immune to lotions and oils. It was one of many landmarks upon his body Robert couldn’t see, could find only by touch. It felt almost a compulsion to stroke this square inch of skin, proof that this man was truly Liam and not a simulacrum.

Not that someone like Liam could ever be simulated.

“This is daft,” Liam said suddenly. “Your attention’s not undivided if we’re watching TV, is it?”

It sort of had been, as Robert had been more entranced by touching Liam than by the program. “So let’s do something else.”

“We cannae go out drinking or dancing, as we’ve got a match tomorrow.”

“Then let’s stay in.” Robert moved his hand inside Liam’s thigh. “Really in.”

“We’re never at our footballing best the day after a good shag.”

“We could experiment, see how we play after a bad shag.”

“Nae chance.” Liam kissed Robert, then suddenly seized his arm. “Let’s go to the Tesco!”

* * *

Robert had assumedLiam would take their game in some strange directions, but he never imagined that one of those directions would lead to the Shettleston Tesco Extra on a Friday night.

Outside the supermarket, Liam shoved his shopping list into Robert’s hand. “Be right back. Need to pop over to F&F for a wee minute.”

“You need new clothes?”

“Not for myself.” He patted Robert’s cheek. “Only buy that porridge if it’s discounted. If not, I’ll take the own-brand stuff. I’ll be back in time to pay.” He hurried off, hands in his coat pockets, head ducked against the blustery wind.

Robert wheeled his trolley through the automatic doors, sighing with relief at the blast of warm air that greeted him.

He started with the fresh veg, wishing he had his own list with him. It was on his phone, of course, which he’d left behind at Liam’s flat. The lack of device made him feel unnaturally light, so he found himself checking his pocket to ensure his wallet hadn’t been nicked.

He picked the produce Liam needed, staying within prescribed amounts so as not to exceed the budget. He soon created a game for himself, predicting the weight of each veg before putting it on the scale.

“Yaaaass,” he hissed when he estimated the tomatoes bang-on. A short woman in a purple headscarf looked up from the garlic and peered at him over her glasses. “I guessed right,” he told her, his ears warming as he tied the bag shut.

He’d barely made it out of the produce area when Liam appeared beside him, nose reddened from the cold air.

“That was fast,” Robert said. “Find what you needed?”

Liam’s amber eyes flicked from side to side as he tried to suppress a smile. “Ordered it online yesterday, so I just needed to collect it.” He tapped the left side of his jacket, where a plastic bag rustled. “It’s here, close to my heart.”

“It better be good, after this buildup.”

“No, it’s very bad.” He grabbed the trolley handle. “I’ll drive. I know where everything is after they rearranged the aisles.”

Robert followed, reminding himself not to get lost in thought simply because he had nothing to do. He had one very important task: pay attention to Liam.

So he stayed in the moment, watching his partner choose amongst the items on the shelves, muttering calculations to himself, working out which brand was the right choice, considering price and quality. Though Robert excelled at higher maths, his ability to add, subtract, and multiply in his head couldn’t hold a candle to Liam’s. Perhaps the bartending job had made Liam such a deft arithmetician, or perhaps he was simply a master at all things important to real life.

In this most mundane of settings, Robert was reminded of the simple joy of being with this man. Lately, he had to admit, he’d paid close attention to Liam only when they were in bed or on the football pitch.

For instance: It was already mid-January, and Robert was just now discerning Liam’s “winter plumage,” as he called it. His hair had darkened from bright red to a rich auburn, and the temporary, sun-induced freckles had faded, leaving behind only the permanent ones, the ones Robert had mapped and memorized over many a naked afternoon.

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